But Blake’s attention wasn’t on her—it was on me.

He relaxed and leaned back, stretching his arms out over the back of the couch, pretending he wasn’t highly aware of my presence. “You look like you’re having fun without me.”

I exhaled sharply through my nose. “Dance with me.”

He hummed, tapping his fingers against the cushion. “I don’t know, B. I’m kinda comfortable right now.”

I crossed my arms. “Blake.”

“Beverly.”

I lifted my chin. “You owe me.”

“For what, exactly?”

“For scaring off my dance partner.”

Blake’s expression didn’t change. “Didn’t seem like you wanted him as a dance partner.”

I opened my mouth. Shut it.

One brow lifted in lazy amusement. “That’s what I thought.”

“Come on,” I pushed, refusing to let him win. “Get up.”

But he didn’t move. Didn’t budge. Didn’t even pretend to consider it. Instead, he stretched out his legs further, tilting his head back against the couch like he was suddenly bored.

I swallowed as something shifted in his gaze.

Rachel chuckled, like this was some joke she was in on.

Like she thought I was just another girl in line.

Blake’s eyes dragged over me, slow and assessing, as if he was deciding how much damage he wanted to do.

Slowly, his lips curved into a lazy smirk.

“Why don’t you dance for me, B?”

The words hit me like a slap and a caress all at once, sending a bolt of something hot and dangerous through me.

Blake didn’t say things like that. Blake didn’t play like that.

At least, not with me.

But he was playing now. He wanted to see if I would fold.

He was daring me. Testing me.

I should’ve rolled my eyes and left him there with that girl still sitting in his lap. But I didn’t. I wanted to win. I wanted to undo whatever game he was playing before it even started.

He wanted a show? I’d give him a damn show.

I stormed toward the boombox sitting near the kitchen, flipping through the mixtapes stacked beside it.

A quick glance at Blake confirmed he was still sitting there like a king on his throne, watching and waiting. Rachel shifted in his lap, clearly irritated that she was being ignored.

My fingers flew over the tapes, shoving past whatever garbage Evan had collected. I didn’t even know what I was looking for—until I found it. A slow, wicked smile spread across my lips as I popped the cassette into the player, pressing it down with an almost violent force.

The opening beat of The Boy Is Mine by Brandy and Monica echoed through the room, and I turned to face Blake.

His smirk faltered.

I saw it—the briefest flicker of hesitation in his eyes before he masked it with indifference.